


Temperament And Blisters

by SpeedingCheetah



Series: blnt fics ive wrote to rip my heart out subconsciously [5]
Category: better luck next time - Fandom, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Break, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Midoriya Izuku Needs Therapy, Not beta read we die like Izuku, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Protective Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Spin-off fic, This fic is a spin-off, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, Vigilantism, read carefully, someone please burn down the Gekkeiju for me, triggers are in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedingCheetah/pseuds/SpeedingCheetah
Summary: Izuku normally manages to slip by and stay alive long enough to avoid needing to reset; To avoid needing to do anything too drastic to keep his identity a secret.  And yet, he messed up once; And now pays the price for it.He wished he had kept his mouth shut.
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Monoma Neito is mentioned, Midoriya Izuku & Original Character(s) is mentioned
Series: blnt fics ive wrote to rip my heart out subconsciously [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195742
Comments: 19
Kudos: 189
Collections: better luck next time and related works





	Temperament And Blisters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nauticalwarrior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/gifts).
  * Inspired by [better luck next time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394571) by [nauticalwarrior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/pseuds/nauticalwarrior). 



> Trigger Warning: _Mentions of Violence (Gore + Blood), Blood + Injury, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Brief Mentions of Self-Harm, Mention of Torture, Mention of Burning Alive, Mention of Suffocation, Suicidal Thoughts, Mention of Nausea / Sickness.._ I believe that’s all; Read with caution.
> 
> — — —
> 
> Yep, I’m back with another. This is the most I’ve ever written in such a. Short period of time?? Like 5 fics over 4k words each? In under 2 weeks? _wow thats nice_
> 
> Anyways, this was based off of a prompt idea from the blnt-discord server. _“If the Gekkeiju were to find out about Izuku sharing information to Aizawa.”_ \- There was supposed to be more to it, but I honestly didn’t know how to add more in because I got stuck with writer’s block. I’ll end up making another prompt soon tho so- 
> 
> Read carefully!

Izuku was sick.

He was sick from the bruises on his body to the high fever he had; The dryness in his mouth and the way he just couldn’t seem to get any air into his lungs. His lips were parched and he felt dizzy, weak and far too light to be healthy.

The vigilante couldn’t stand without falling over, couldn’t get his head to wrap around the fact it had been a whole week; And he hadn’t been able to get home. He hadn’t been able to go to school, and he couldn’t reset to fix it all. His identity was blown, and his body was so fucking broken he wanted to puke.

_He did._

It had been a week, and those seven days left a lasting impression on what little stability Izuku had left. He had fucked up, had made a mistake and had no time to hide or cover it up. 

The pain was rooted deep in his system, the anticipation and paranoia laced in everything he did. He’d dragged his body out of the Gekkeiju base after they ‘Let him go’, trusting him to not make the same mistake _twice._ And he wouldn’t- He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

So here he was, on a roof with shallow breathing and his body so badly beaten up he didn’t know what he was even trying to do anymore. The agony wouldn’t go away anytime soon, and he knew that there was no going back to fix all the hell he had just gone through. 

It was churning in his stomach, spinning in his head and making his vision cloud over in white splotches that burned at such a rate he would have thought he was gasoline and the world around him was a single match that was lit ablaze. It burned and festered under his skin, his throat ruined and mangled with strangulation marks. 

He didn’t want to know how he survived without resetting. 

_Mom._ Came a thought, and right after tears flooded Izuku’s vision. He wasn’t wearing a mask, as most of his costume was destroyed, but his goggles were only half cracked. He couldn’t get the tears to stop once they started, and he choke down stuttered breaths that wouldn’t ever cease the pain and pure uselessness he felt. 

Nothing could. 

Mouse’s fearful expression haunted him. The way she was so scared, genuinely fucking scared, and all Izuku could do was screw his eyes shut and pray the effects of Fury’s hell wouldn’t be as bad as the pain and betrayal in the girl’s eyes all because Izuku couldn’t keep his mouth shut and play it safe.

She was alive; But not well. 

The girl had been covered in bruises and ash, burning and burning and _burning-_ Until all Izuku had seen was smoke and char and smell the scent of burning flesh and open flames. It had been terrifying, he wouldn’t lie. 

He had no one to lie to.

The teenager was starting to wish he had risked it all and grabbed her and _ran._ Maybe then the Gekkeiju wouldn’t have as much leverage as they did if he had just played it safe like his subconscious had recommended to him all the months ago when he first got caught up in the villain organization. 

Izuku choked on another sob, lungs heaving as he struggled to keep his breaths regulated. He wanted to suffocate, wanted to feel the tug of death bring him under the waves of deep water- Wanted to feel the cold wash over him without the contact of any other being.

And yet, his injuries would make such a desire impossible.

He knew he was burning and had such severe wounds it’d been impossible to get out of any situation unscathed. He knew most wounds were infected, dried and irritated with red skin and yellow scabbing. 

It was painful to move, painful to cry when his chest shook and his body couldn’t stop trembling. When everything he did caused agony to rise in his body, from his bones to every ounce of skin that was miraculously left untouched. That wasn’t a lot of untouched and unharmed skin, for future reference. 

The teenager stumbled, hand pressed against the side of a building. It was a tiny room on the surface of a roof, probably the door to the stairway that would lead to the top of the building. 

But that wasn’t what caught Izuku’s attention, no. Izuku’s mind was scattered and thoroughly displaced, fucked up in nearly every category. Everything was too hot and too cold all at once. His body was sore and _screaming_ for mercy and pain medication, but for some reason he knew he could jump off the roof and let the impact kill him.

He coughed, tears swelling in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. He tasted char and copper on his tongue, a combination that was making him more and more sick with each passing minute.

 _I should have kept myself rot in the alley way._ The sixteen year old was in pain, and he couldn’t get anything out of his head. He could see Mouse’s horror, the look of fear on her face and shaking of her frail and already ash smudged body. He could hear Fury’s laughter, the clicking of pens and distant typing from the receptionist.

The pain was too much.

If his voice actually worked, he would have screamed. He would have screamed and started to scream as soon as he had been a good enough distance away from the Gekkeiju base so that no one would figure out what had _truly_ happened. What had truly gone down, and what price Izuku had to pay for his mistakes.

He couldn’t breathe anymore. He was forgetting how to get oxygen into his already punctured and bruised lungs. His ribs were cracked, surely, and he had no will left to keep fighting. 

All he felt were hands around his throat and the burning- _Fuck,_ the searing hot pain that blinded Izuku from reality and made him scream in anguish. It was painful, watching his own ichor drip to paint the concrete grounds and feel it roll off his chin; Warm from deep in his throat where it had been unsuccessfully swallowed down. 

The swarm of agony in his body was enough to make him cry. His shoulders were shaking and he was slipping down, back hissing and bubbling in again as it was pressed against the stone of the stairway room’s wall; The blood on his hands from where he tried to Cobden his mouth causing him so much distress. 

It could have been Mouse’s blood, and he was just unable to tell in his delirious and upset state. But then again, he had been like this for nearly eight days, choking on his saliva and blood; Hurling his stomach acid upwards as if it was a bad meal that had made him ill.

He hadn’t had anything all day; Starving and withering away. It made the abuse worse; Made his tolerance to the pain that happened so, _so_ much fucking worse. 

He was hungry but the thought of eating anything was nauseating. 

So he shoved the thoughts away, exhaustion pulling at his mind and clawing at his skin. Everything hurt; Ached in a familiar way, the pull strong enough for him to exhale wobbly and hope the sleep deprivation he went through would be enough to drag him under a thick cloud of mindless rest.

To drag him under and let him drown for days- To struggle against cold tides that were pressed against each of his injuries and forced him to acknowledge the full extent of his physical form, if not the chaos going on in his head; Jumbled thoughts screaming and spilling in what seemed to be fatigue. And if it wasn’t fatigue, he didn’t know what it was. 

_What else could it be?_ He thought to himself, numbly. The train of thoughts he tried to follow went too fast for him to actually understand; Only getting a few coherent words from his subconscious. _Something_ about needing to run and get out of the situation he was in, but he didn’t actually think he’d be able to fully run. Maybe hide, or stay still like he was a corpse, 

His eyelids felt far too heavy; His world solely taking his experiences with messing up and amplifying them. Nothing he did could stop the burning, and nothing he did stopped the hateful memories in his head. 

Izuku was scared, he knew the feeling well enough to understand exactly when he started to become affected by it. He could recognize it, the way it curled around his neck and stayed unnervingly still; Waiting in the back of his mind before squeezing and cutting off what little safety he had left.

_Did I have any at all?_

Excruciating hot blisters gnawed at his skin, some being real others being nothing more than phantom pain. His exhaustion, sadly, wasn’t enough to make him pass out- It wasn’t strong enough to make him fall asleep into a mindless bliss, or in most cases, into a raging nightmare.

But any reality would be better than _this._

The teenager was sick, fighting off waves of heat that felt too real to be hallucinations against his skin. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, the feeling came bubbling right back in his mouth and pulsing his blood onto his tongue. 

He was tired- So, so very tired. He was exhausted and barely managing to keep himself from curling up to try and wait for the eventual death, and yet he knew that his quirk would stop him from actually experiencing. It wasn’t fair, not in his current predicament. It wasn’t fair because he was suffering badly, and he didn’t want to deal with the screaming pain in his limbs or the self-destruction his body was urging him to do.

How is one supposed to act if all they can feel is the pain from past horrors? Mutilation cling to him, like a leach against any other life form with flowing blood and a beating heart that would keep them alive no matter what figuration took place to _try_ and change them into something new.

He couldn’t get his eyelids to close, but couldn’t find any reason to stay awake. The vigilante knew it was paranoia and anxiety, the feeling that swirled in his head and twisted around like a coil bouncing about. It could have been pain, the intense blundering that made him want to gouge out his eyes and cut off his limbs.

Maybe if he did that, the pain would reside and he wouldn’t risk his own mentality any longer than he had to. He’d get a break if he could find a way to shut down his awareness, to become numb and unmoving to everything around him. 

It was buzzing in his ears, taking up his ability to process and understand the world around him. It was a distant echo that cried for retribution, begging for something to appear and save him from the loud echoing the universe had to offer. But no one did, and it wasn’t like he could save himself.

So he tried to focus on the things he could analyze; He tried to focus on what was a certain fact in his current situation, and what was damaging him as badly as he was currently imagining it to be. 

He knew he was on a roof, bleeding out slowly from a large wound on his side, that had gotten cauterized; Unmercifully, he might add. He also knew it was sometime between three and six-AM, so he had a time gap of three hours to try and work around.

He knew his left leg was broken, splintered apart and somehow still functioning enough for him to half-limp and drag his bloodied and burned body off into shadows and places that wouldn’t get him caught so easily. He knew it worked enough, or was numbed down enough for him to not scream bloody murder when his knees buckled and sent him hitting the ground harshly. 

He knew it had rained a night or two ago, the scent of water and cold heavy in the crisp air. The sky was shadowed in with clouds, varying in whites to a deep grey that looked rather familiar. Fury’s choice in suit colors flashed in his head, and he screwed his eyes shut again. 

That didn’t remove the image from his mind, but perhaps he had thought it would. Izuku probably had, seeing as pain was climbing up his spine and latching onto every nerve that was to exist inside of his body. 

There was no one for him to turn to, and no one for him to cry out for. He could if he tried, if he _really tried._ He could try and open his mouth, to swallow down the blood that didn’t help with his dehydration or the dry feeling in his throat. Izuku knew if he tried hard enough, forced his body to do what he wanted, he could get away with it. 

He could scream if he tried hard enough. If he forced his body to obey his desires, inhaled long enough and held the oxygen in his lungs, he’d be able to cry out loud enough to get someone’s attention. _Anyone’s attention._

But he wasn’t strong enough.

Izuku wasn’t a god, wasn’t immortal. He could still die; After enough tries he could die and he probably _wouldn’t_ come back. He didn’t exactly know, didn’t see a difference between his quirk’s genuine activations and what he was doing just to ‘stay alive’. It was a silly contradiction, a comparison that made practically no sense. 

_How could a person stay alive if they killed themself?_ Was the question, the words he pondered late at night after resetting or cutting a bit deep on his arms. He could trace the scars and count them if he wanted, but there were too many for him to stay focused and number each one. 

And yet he _knew_ what he did to get each one.

Izuku could remember each cut, each day he spent hiding in his room or occupying a bathroom to try and feel a familiar strict buzz that would spread over his skin and ache in a way that made him aware he _wasn’t daydreaming a reality._ It would be hard to lucid dream such a complex world in his head, but he wouldn’t put it past his middle school self to do something like this.

Then again, he had no proof that this was a dream, either. He still slept and died here, watched his own blood spill and tasted each meal he ate. He could feel pain and the crisp sharpness of ice-water after brushing his teeth or chewing gum that Neito had given him.

Fucking hell, he knew his mind better than anyone, but still managed to be surprised by the fond memories it stuffed down his throat. Sometimes they helped, they brought him out of shadows of self-doubt and destruction; Other times they made him cry harder into a pillow because going to anyone, absolutely anyone, was a problem. 

It didn’t ever matter who offered him such oblivion, the ginger truth that would keep him grounded to the harsh clutches of what most deemed to be life. If he wanted to be comforted, there were people he could go to and mumble a weak excuse of just feeling like shit. 

Neito would believe it, only because the blonde knew exactly what was making Izuku feel sick. He’d know exactly what he meant, and would understand far better than anyone else. He knew this, was perfectly aware of it, and yet the greenette still tried to avoid going to him for comfort.

He was just scared.

Scared of the effects, scared of the hollow feeling he’d feel afterwards when Neito would lack sleep and be exhausted from having to listen to the vigilante’s panic every night because Izuku couldn’t ever just _fix_ the thoughts in his head. They roared and rumbled, made the freckled teenager hiss and try to stop himself from doubling over and falling down in sudden agony.

That was his issue; The backlash of his thoughts. 

The whiplash that followed him everywhere he went, breathing down his neck and slowly increasing until all Izuku could feel was a tornado and hurricane in his lungs; Ripping him apart unnaturally. _Unfairly._

It ate his mentality, forced the ideas of death down his throat and made him think about them in the midst of class. He could be doing any assignment, and the ways of suicide weaseled their way into his head; Interrupting his train of thought and disrupting the focus he had attached to his work. 

And the thing was he’d listen. He’d let those thoughts enter his mind and interrupt him, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Izuku just let it happen, because it was better than trying to suppress the desire to listen and think about death. He could work better without the ever-lasting thoughts that would plague him if he didn’t try and hear the self-hate and actions that urged him to do something fucking impulsive. 

The distrust was enough to single him out; To make him feel truly alone in a world that was filled with plenty of people who told him that they _did care._ But he ended up ignoring it, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t see a difference between them worrying for him- Or them just trying to make sure he wasn’t a mole.

So he sat where he was; Back against the stone as he tried to focus and the pale sunlight that slowly filtered around him. It was early morning, cold and fresh but a warm welcome against Izuku’s loneliness. 

He burned, but he felt safe enough. 

Not safe enough to smile, or to let the tension run out if his bones and slowly drip off his skin, but _okay_ enough to feel like he could sit here and know in a few hours, he’d either be dead and would have reset, or that someone would be by on a search party to find his nearly decaying corpse. 

There were tears blurring his vision, clouding his gaze with droplets of sadness and agony that he wished he could brush away. He wished he could lift his hands up to smear the tears away, to throw his goggles off and watch them crack open on the concrete. He wished he could ignore all the pain to fix his ash-streaked hair.

There were char and cigarette burns on his skin, bruises that were so ugly and messed up he felt repulsed to even acknowledge their existence upon his body. Yellows and blues, structured cuts across his skin in uncomfortable places. It hurt when he moved, or when he breathed too deeply, when he inhaled shakily to try and keep himself alive for just _a few minutes longer._

And yet, Izuku was unwell enough to continue doing _exactly_ what irritated all of his injuries. Because maybe if he was in enough pain, just maybe, his body would force him to pass out and grant him with a singular fucking minute of sparse and thoroughly appreciated _mercy._

For some odd reason, it did. 

He felt his eyes close with pale light slowly rising in the sky, blood on his hands and slowly pooling on the ground with him as he heard his heart slowly beat at a lighter and less panicky rate. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, watched the blurry world around him dispute into darkness as sleep finally settled upon him.

It could have been hours of him trying to knock himself out and trying to get his body to shut down so he could rest. So he could _genuinely_ rest and actively avoid staying awake and aware of everything, but at the same time Izuku was too delirious to try and understand how many hours had passed.

He let the cold shadows of sleep grab him; And he heard a distant thought wrack through him. It was nothing more than a whisper, a strained voice that he recognized to be his own. 

_I hope I die in my sleep._

**— — —**

Izuku woke up again, his body aching too much for him to stay lost in an unknown world of sleep. He didn’t remember what he had dreamed about, but he didn’t remember experiencing any nightmares, either. 

That seemed like an accomplishment for his current state, really.

He felt cold, the sky having turned dark again. Stars were out on the few bits of open air he could see, the majority of the atmosphere atoned with dark clouds that brought forth the heavy scent of rain and cold. He wasn’t too sure if it’d rain soon or not, but if it did, he’d probably get sick and actually end up dying with the water rolling over him.

Then again, it didn’t ever last for long when he was like this. The feeling of exhaustion and paranoia were back; And although he knew he had to have slept for at least twelve hours, he wished he could go back and stay the _fuck passed out._

Staying awake wasn’t worth it, not in the long shot at least. 

He exhaled shakily, blinking blearily a few moments later. Tears were in the corners of his eyes, like he somehow had an infinite supply of such fluids. They spilled down his cheeks slowly, like honey dripping off of a spoon or like syrup that had been squeezed out of a bottle to pour over something sweet for breakfast.

His stomach growled, the thought of sweet fruit and freshly baked food making his mouth water in hunger. The idea of tasting sugar and something sweet, something to nourish the craving he had developed in the week he had been forced to starve and suffer for his mistakes. 

Pancakes or waffles sounded nice- Or something softer and less chewy to munch upon. His mind darted over to smoothies and drinks, familiar fantasies and desires spilling in his head as he started to wonder if he’d be able to drag his half-dead self over to a gas-station to get a slushie off some kind.

_Fuck._

His body felt sticky with sweat and blood, char glued to his skin and around his neck like some cruel trick from an off-brand makeup company’s product, to which it had failed and scarred him with effects he wished he could get off. Except the marks on his skin weren't from faulty make-up, and they were real. They were painful and hot, infected and fully exposed to the germs and illnesses in the world.

No amount of cleaning could remove the damage he’d endured, and now he paid the price. He always had to eventually, had to patch himself up and hope that the injuries he’d sustained wouldn’t be the ‘death’ of him. 

Izuku swallowed thickly, tasting saliva and blood. He wished it was something more appealing to his taste buds, like sickly sweet fried or freshly cut cloves from the spice rack in his mother’s home. An odd choice to say he’d wish he’d rather taste, but nearly any other flavor would be better than the metallic one in his mouth right now.

He’d rather taste the bitter flavor of distrust than the thick and heavy feeling that numbed his tongue as if he’d just swallowed a cup of antiseptic. _You aren’t even supposed to drink that._

There was a gentle breeze, brushing across his skin which twitched and jolted at the feeling. No matter what he tried to do to stop the jumpy actions of his limbs, the air was sharp and pressed against his injuries without restraint. He knew he shouldn’t complain, that it was better than the hot burning of Mouse’s quirk, or the destruction brought to his mental state by Fury; But it still hurt.

If it hurt, he was pretty sure he deserved the right to complain about it- Even if it was himself. The blood had dried up under him, but there was a steady flow still seeping through his midriff, the blood dyeing the sweater he wore in his vigilante costume into a deep crimson red. It was ripped and tattered, but he’d pressed it deep into his side as soon as he had been given the chance. 

Two of his many injuries had been cauterized, although he knew Fury had never ‘wanted’ them to stop bleeding. Izuku just hadn’t said anything about them, too terrified and mentally out of it to say anything besides scream in pain. 

Izuku blinked again, tipping his head back and feeling his skull gently hit the wall he was propped up against. It sent waves of pain through his body, but he tried to ignore it. He just needed to find a way to go back to sleep, to find a way to ignore it all and continue forwards so he could walk right back to UA and ask for a single fucking thing. 

He’d risk everything else, everything else he had worked so hard to try and complete as a dream for his life- _Everything else._ He’d ask them to save Mouse. He’d beg and plead for them to let him go back to save the little girl who was innocent and _always burning._ He’d scream for it until his throat bled and lungs lost all functionality. 

But he wouldn’t tell them anything else- He wouldn’t have the guts to, wouldn’t have the strength to try and explain the hells he went through just to stay ‘alive’. Izuku would lie through his teeth before he admitted to self-destruction, but he’d let them draw as many connections as they wanted.

That’s what he wanted- What he **needed** them to do. 

They’d never trust him again, he knew this. He knew his cover was fully blown, and he’d never get a moment of blissful freedom ever again, never get the chance to be alone in his room without someone poking their head in to make sure he was _still there._

The teenager couldn’t get his mind to listen to him, but the least he could do was allow himself to fall and finally lose the remaining stability he had. It wouldn’t be worth it- Trying to hide, he meant. It’d cause more problems than what it’s worth, and that’s the exact opposite of what he wanted. 

Izuku thought he heard someone approach, like feet walking rapidly on concrete, but he was too loopy to actually notice. His eyes were glazed over with that far-away look, staring up at the night sky as if it was something that could save him from everything he feared. 

Then, he heard it. 

A quiet and strained voice, just a few feet away. “ _Ace?_ ”

The teenager couldn’t keep the pure look of panic from crossing his face, couldn’t stop the sudden freeze in the shaky rise and fall of his chest; Breathing going back to something shallow and harsh.

He heard the footsteps again, more rapid. The distant flutter of a familiar scarf, something Izuku thought he’d never have the honor to hear ever again. It was familiar and made his head hurt, a drowsy and nervous smile slowly becoming present on his face for a brief moment of time.

And then it was drowned out with fear, and he flinched so violently when his teacher was _right there-_ Right besides him, reaching out with such worry in his restless and tired eyes it made the vigilante wish he were back inside the Gekkeiju base; Suffocating on the smoke from his own damn skin being set on fire.

Aizawa’s voice was panicked- Genuinely panicked as he saw the teenager bleeding against a wall, burned and bruised so horribly it was like someone purposely kept him alive just to make his life worse. _The Gekkeiju had._

Again, the man dropped right down besides the younger, instinctively moving to try and check for any other serious injuries. “Ace- Fuck, _Midoriya-_ ”

That was enough to scare and send the greenette into a full blown meltdown; And he shoved himself away, head hitting the walls behind him as he desperately tried to move away. It didn’t matter is his teacher didn’t have Fury’s quirk; It didn’t matter at all because he _didn't want contact-_

“N-No,” He cried, hating the way his teacher reached out to him. He wanted to curl up and die, to hide in someone’s embrace. But that _someone_ couldn’t exist, and he couldn’t ever meet that person, as he was scared and too freakish to want to actually hide within a person's grasp. 

They’d only hurt him more. 

Izuku couldn’t think, only seeing blinding white in his gaze as pain and agony erupted like a volcano in each wound he possessed. Aizawa’s hand had frozen, halfway outstretched. The kid tried to move away, eyes wide and frantic despite only one of them being shown. “Stay t-there.” 

The pro-hero tried to get him to listen, but all Izuku could hear was Fury’s laughter and the sound of fires burning and the smell of ash and the taste of his blood pulsing up his throat and being thrown up onto the floor- “Midoriya-” 

“Back-k,” He croaked again, voice desperate. 

Izuku was desperate to get away, desperate to avoid physical contact, desperate to hide and not deal with this. To tuck himself away from the depths of reality, to stay locked up somewhere fuzzy and _safe_ so he wouldn’t be so obliged to try and get up and jump off the roof of the building he was on. 

_When would I deal with this, then?_ He heard a logical murmur in the depths of a sharply piercing war that waged hell on his mind, lip quivering as his thoughts raced and bounced with the rapid beat of his heart, _I can’t run forever._

He shuffled as far away from the man as he could, not listening to himself.

Aizawa froze, miraculously staying where he was. Emotions and clear concern were striking his teacher’s face in a matter of seconds, drawing connection after connection. The adult raised his hands, not missing a beat, “I’m right here. No one is going to hurt you.”

_Liar._

“S-Stay there.” He repeated again, gaze hidden behind a thick cloud of distrust and paranoia. Anyone could see it, anyone would have seen the fear on the male’s face and the way his body was shaking if there were more people on scene who had threatened him. Anyone could have been able to see that he was out of his mind, and traumatized to the point he couldn’t feel relief for a hero finally arriving. 

“I _won’t_ move.” Aizawa repeated, emphasizing the fact that he wouldn’t move. That he’d stay where he was, and wouldn’t do anything else besides talk to the other. “It’s Shouta Aizawa, your teacher. Do you recognize me?”

 _You’re my teacher,_ The greenette’s mind clarified, but as such he didn’t say it out loud. His eyes darted around, fear hitting him in the gut as his head pounded. Everything was spinning, and it was a downright shock he hadn’t spiraled sooner. 

Maybe the presence of another person was what set him off.

“I don’t- I-I don’t _want-_ ” The sixteen year old couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t voice anything. Everything hurt and burned and the blood his heart was producing was pouring out of his side. It wasn’t fast enough to kill him in the next few minutes, but there was _so_ much red-

So much red, of fire and blood and burning hot metal and the deep crimson flecks that were spread out within Fury’s golden hued gaze of violence and hatred- Unforgiving red that never gave Izuku the chance to evade from the grasps of the villain’s quirk.

All he knew was that anyone could hurt him-

_Anyone and everyone._

“You don’t have to do anything,” Aizawa said, softly. His eyes weren’t angry, they were calm and concerned and made Izuku feel guilty. No one should be that concerned- Why did it have to be his teacher who always found him like this? “I’m right here. Can you breathe with me? I won't move.”

The teenager choked, struggling to make so much as a squeak of acknowledgement. His gaze darted around, and he was internally screaming for someone to come and just end him from his misery. 

“Can’t- _C-Can’t-_ ” He retched, rapidly blinking.

“That’s okay, perfectly okay Midoriya,” His teacher responded anyways, voice gentle and soft in that reassuring tone Izuku wished he could have heard a few days ago. He would have begged to hear genuine concern from _anyone_ a few days ago. “I need you to follow my breathing, that’s all. In and out with me, okay?”

He wanted to listen, he was trying to listen and show he hadn’t made any mistakes. That he _hadn’t_ fucked up or done something that would give his teacher any reason to hurt him- But the pain was so much and the world around him felt like it was small and suddenly very far away. 

Like he had no escape and he was back to suffocating alone in a dark room, watching blood drip from his hands and onto the ground at a steady pace that _screams_ for any form of pressure, begging to be tended to so he wouldn’t die of blood loss. 

_I wish I did die from blood loss._

So he forced his lungs to follow the pattern his teacher was showing, forced himself to go rigid; Pressed up against the wall as far as he could. The blood he saw on the roof was his own, all the red that was dried and painted the ground was his and a large portion of it was _still fresh._

“There, very good.” Aizawa encouraged, and it made Izuku want to stop breathing and curl up on himself so no one could say nonsense to him. He had fucked up, and wasn’t doing good at all. “You’re doing good.”

_Not at all._

Aizawa guided him through the pattern again. “I need you to keep breathing, Midoriya.” 

“Stay-y,” Came the choked response, breathing uneven and shallow. The vigilante was in pain, and couldn’t get any of the proper words out. He didn’t know if he was asking for his teacher to not leave him alone with his thoughts, or if he was asking his mentor to stay where he was and not move closer for any reason.

The sixteen year old couldn’t tell the difference.

“I’m not moving.” He said again, not trying to dismiss the words of his student. He hadn’t moved an inch, despite the urge to reach out and put pressure on the many bleeding injuries that the male before him had. His brows furrowed, and he related his previous words, “I need you to stay awake, can you do that? I’m going to call for backup.”

“N-No, wait,” Izuku scrambled to get the words out, heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t want any other people, he didn’t want to deal with anyone else coming to his ‘rescue’ and trying to save him from his own mistakes- He didn’t want to be seen in a state of mindless entropy. “ _P-Please,_ no more- No m-more people.”

Aizawa froze where he was, reaching for what was probably a burner in his back pocket. “Midoriya, I’m only calling an ambulance and UA; As well as the other professionals who had been assigned to your case. You’ve been missing for a week, people are worried. Your mother will be right with you, and I’ll be there too. You’re okay.”

The kid shook his head, dizziness erupting in his mind, “They- They’ll find o-out,” 

“I know you’re in pain, and you’re scared, but you can’t sit up here and wait to-” His teacher replied, cutting himself off before saying the rest of the sentence. It was a nice touch, but Izuku didn’t want to risk it, it didn't matter to put his trust into a pro-hero who had known him as both Ace _and_ Izuku Midoriya.

Shouta Aizawa knew the two sides of a coin that no one else knew, and it was all because of a few run ins that led to such experiences; Such interactions that forged a bond. 

Izuku didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing anymore. 

When he spoke next, his voice was quiet and gentle. It was nearly soothing enough to make the younger person want to smile in relief, but it wasn’t enough to get rid of the pain that was seared into his mind. “No one can touch you as Ace, you have my word. You aren’t in trouble for what you’ve done. You’ll be safe.”

“Mouse,” He choked again, desperate for his teacher to listen. He didn’t care if he was punished, if he was killed or swept under the rug and forced to spend time in juvenile detention; He couldn’t risk Mouse’s or Avenging Angel’s safety. He couldn’t do such a thing, not even for himself. “They’ll kill h-her, I can’t- _I can’t._ ”

“We are doing everything we can to save her, and the others who are captive. You’ve done your part, let the authorities do the rest.” He said gently, as if to try and soothe the teenager before him. The hero knew that his student wasn’t safe, wasn’t okay, and would take a long time to recover; But he stayed patient.

“You can get a break, Midoriya. No one is mad at you, we are just concerned. I need to call in for backup, no one will hurt you.” Aizawa met his startled and upset gaze, the adult’s own being sincere and authentic. Izuku wished it _wasn’t._ “I promise you.”

“No-.. No p-people,” He was struggling to keep arguing, struggling to follow the breathing rhythm his teacher had instructed him to use. The teenager couldn’t figure anything out, couldn’t grasp any concepts longer than a few minutes. _Did he tell me to do it, or just show me how?_

Again, his teacher was already pulling out the phone. His movements were slow and controlled, but he held sympathy in his gaze. He could hear Izuku’s panic, hear his pleas, but he didn’t stop with what he was doing. “Midoriya, you’ll be okay. I promise that you’ll be okay.” 

_How could a person promise sincerity and safety of one was a danger to one’s self?_ Izuku wondered, trying to piece together the way his body felt sluggish, the way he was struggling to get his breaths out and take oxygen back in; The way he tasted blood on his tongue and felt it drip down his chin and roll off his tongue.

He vaguely wondered if his temperament had changed over the months of him working as a vigilante, over the few weeks of torture he endured as a member of the Gekkeiju. _Was it worth the risk? Was it, truly?_

A part of him agreed; Knowing it was worth all the blood, tears and sparked nerves he had to go through and deal with after each meeting at the villain organization’s base. It was worth the sleepless nights and the silent sobs that would wrack his body as he returned from patrol, stumbling back into his form and curling up under his bed’s covers as if it’d shield him from the world’s hate. 

But he also wished he wasn’t logical; Wished he’d been selfish just for once to avoid confrontation and avoid the agony that followed with joining what was practically a sacrificial group who enjoyed torturing and abducting fucking _children._

For some odd reason, he stopped trying to breathe. 

The teenager stopped trying to keep his eyes open and keep his gaze begging for whatever mercy he could get out of his teacher’s presence and comforting words. Whatever little peace his mentor had to offer him in his nearly dead state.

He felt his eyes slowly shut, saw the look of terror on his mentor’s face and the sudden dart forward as a hand came in contact with his side, the pressure sending sparks of agony through the vigilante's body. But he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t scream for the hero to get away, and couldn’t cry out for someone to end his suffering.

All he could do was listen to the distant chatter in his ears, the strained voice that was _pleading_ with him to stay awake and keep his eyes open- He could feel warmth on his skin, feel it drip down his sides and slowly start to soak into his clothing. 

Izuku felt the blisters on his flesh burn, and that’s when he knew no amount of help could save him from the world of disdain he’d be in when he woke up again. 

There was a distant tug on his limbs, dragging him back under. It was soothing in a cold and possessive way, twisting his mind and making his already blackened vision spin as fog covered his thoughts and slowed his process of thinking. Death had returned for him; But he was unsure if he’d be able to turn it away.

He didn’t try to figure it out, hearing a distant echo of his own laugh; It was pained.

_If I wake up again._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading,, yet again.
> 
> Watch me start working on the other prompts o have saved instead of any of my other already started-fics. 💃🕺💃🕺💃🕺


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